


A Warm Welcome

by MiladyDeWinter (Techno_Queen)



Series: Morn of Change [1]
Category: King's Quest (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Betaed, Blood, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Major Character Injury, rewrite/fix-it of the scene where graham and achaka fight the dragon, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 10:37:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18915247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Techno_Queen/pseuds/MiladyDeWinter
Summary: Graham and Achaka encounter a dragon. The story goes a little differently, this time.(Or: A friendship cut off far too soon, finally gets the chance to grow)





	A Warm Welcome

**Author's Note:**

> _“Build a man a fire, and he’ll be warm for a day. Set a man on fire, and he’ll be warm for the rest of his life.”_ -Terry Prachett

It’s an accident. Just an accident. Achaka offers to shoot the dragon, and Graham refuses, saying ‘Stalama!’ just a little too loudly, just a little too forcefully. A small mistake, and yet one with hideous consequences.

Apparently, dragons have excellent hearing.

The beast rears, raising its head, pinning them with a vicious golden glare. It snarls as it glares down at them both. Achaka’s arrow, meant to embed itself close to the entrance of the cave, instead hits the dragon in the neck. The stick rebounds uselessly off its thick, leathery scales, tumbling into the darkness of the pit. 

And then it’s just the two of them, staring death right in its glittering yellow eyes.

As he stares up at the dragon, the beast mere seconds away from ripping Achaka and him to shreds, Graham is assaulted with several thoughts that flash through his mind with bewildering rapidity. The first is that he doesn’t want to die. The second is that he doesn’t want Achaka to die because of him. And the third is that he has no way of preventing either of the previous two from happening.

Graham is out of his depth. Foolishly, he thought he could handle these kinds of sticky situations. He may be far from strong or swift like most other knights, but he had his wits, a bow, and a magical cape on his side, and like the optimistic, inexperienced, naive fellow he is, he thought it sufficient. All he needed was to pull a few tricks, think outside the box, find unconventional solutions to insurmountable problems, and he would persevere. 

Oh, how wrong he was. No amount of thinking outside the box will help him out of this mess. There are no pumpkins or badgers or mysterious blue lanterns lying around that he can use to escape this situation. Just him and his bow, along with the cavern full of merciless rocks.

Nowhere left to run, nowhere left to hide.

He’s aware of Achaka raising his bow, and finds himself following his example, desperate for anything that will give him at least a modicum of control. It doesn’t help, the dragon’s glare and numerous sharp teeth quashing any confidence the bow might have given him. For the first time his bow and arrows are less of a weapon and more of a feeble assortment of sticks and string, liable to snap at the slightest provocation.

 _This is it,_ he thinks, his thoughts numb and leaden, _this is how I die._

Hopefully it’ll be quick.

~=~

Achaka is first to shoot, drawing back the arrow and releasing with smooth confidence. The arrow slices cleanly through the air as it soars towards its target: the dragon’s left eye, one of the few weak spots amongst a sea of tough, resilient scales. The aim is true, flawless, exquisite, yet, sadly, also entirely wasted. With a puff of the dragon’s fiery breath the arrow fizzles into a mist of ash and smoke that drifts away on a sad cloud of gray.

The strike that was meant to kill only annoys the beast. Angered, the dragon releases a vicious snarl that reverberates off the cavern’s walls, shaking the mass of stone and earth, causing Graham’s bones to shiver and rattle under his skin. The monster exhales, and there’s a sudden increase in temperature as the air shifts from uncomfortably warm to searingly hot, a heat that seems to boil the sweat off Graham’s skin. 

Then the dragon strikes.

It lashes at them with yellowed teeth and a breath that smells of ash and rotting flesh. Graham dodges in a panic, fear and instinct guiding him away from the dragon’s maw. For a hair-raising moment he feels the dragon’s breath, hot on his back. More terrifyingly, he feels the gentle graze of one jagged tooth against his shoulder, ripping and tearing at the fabric of his sleeve.

He whips around, already preparing to shoot, expected the dragon to attack again. But it appears the beast has deemed him a lesser threat, ignoring him for now. Instead, to Graham’s horror, it lunges again for Achaka, doing its best to rip his head off his shoulders.

Graham’s heart jumps into his throat as the teeth bear down on Achaka. Despite his mind’s best efforts to urge him onwards, to do something, to _help Achaka_ , he instead stands paralyzed, his breathing turning fast and ragged as he is frozen by his fear. Powerless to help, he can only watch as in a nerve-wracking display of agility and coordination, Achaka dodges once, twice, thrice, narrowly evading the dragon’s attacks.

The fourth time, Achaka isn’t so lucky.

It’s not a fatal blow. Instead of slicing him with its teeth, the dragon flings him aside with the side of its muzzle. But now Achaka is lying on the ground, scrambling to get back up, and the dragon is opening its mouth, ready to either eat or burn Achaka, Graham doesn’t know which--

_No. No, no, no._

He doesn’t give himself time to think. Graham just pulls back the arrow, aims, and shoots.

~=~

_I am the biggest idiot in the history of Daventry._

It’s one of Graham’s few coherent thoughts in the fog of panic that envelopes his mind, as the dragon turns towards him, a low growl rumbling in its chest. Graham’s arrow is embedded in the softer flesh surrounding its nostrils, dark dragon blood dripping off the arrow’s shaft. The flesh around the arrow is twitching madly, attempting to dislodge the stick, and from the increasing timbre of the dragon’s growl, it’s clear that what was once anger is now rapidly turning to boiling rage.

With a mighty roar, the dragon releases a torrent of fire directed Graham’s way, and it takes another frantic dodge to avoid it. Instead, it’s the rocks where he once stood that take the brunt of the blow, the surface charring in some places, melting in others, the soil burning in impossible flames.

As the dragon inhales once more, Graham is forced to jump off the ledge, clambering hastily amongst rocks as he tries to climb downwards and away. At one point, his ankle gets caught between two rocks, and he badly twists it in his attempts to yank it free. Ignoring the pain flaring in the limb, he forces his feet to carry him down, down, down into the pit of darkness.

Despite his best attempts, however, he cannot outrun a dragon. The second blast of fire misses him by a hair’s breadth, licking at the edge of his cape - it’s only the magic protecting the garment that prevents it from going up in flames. He can hear another inhale, a loud raspy sound as the dragon draws air into its lungs once more. He knows he won’t be able to dodge it this time.

Instead, he jumps, leaping out and away from the rock wall, allowing himself to plummet freely. The wind rushes past his ears as he falls, dampening all sound. He thinks he hears Achaka yelling something, but he can’t make out the words.

Not that he would be able to understand them, at any rate.

The fall is not quite so considerable, yet it’s tall enough to make his landing a jarring one. His twisted ankle collapses underneath him as he lands, protesting the treatment. This time he can’t ignore the pain, a yelp springing forth unbidden as he pitches forward, hands outstretched to break his fall. His palms scrape roughly against the ground, adding more thin sparks of pain as the unyielding rock tears off small pieces of skin.

As much as he’d like to take just one moment to gather his senses, he can’t. Already, the dragon is turning its head once more, seeming ten times taller; already, it’s opening its mouth, ready to breathe another round of fire. Cursing, Graham scrambles once more to his feet, doing his best to limp away as he reloads his bow in a feeble attempt to save himself.

Yet this time, it’s Achaka’s turn to intervene.

Distracted in its attempts to kill Graham, the dragon doesn’t notice Achaka’s arrow until it’s too late. Graham watches in a mixture of awe and terror as the dragon roars in rage and pain, blood drooling in thick swathes from where its left eye used to be, now only a bloody mess with an arrow sticking out of it.

Furious, the beast turns towards Achaka, smoke pouring fluidly from its nostrils. Hands shaking wildly, Graham raises his bow, aiming for the dragon’s remaining eye. He breathes stiffly through his teeth as he tries to calm the trembling of his hands.

He doesn’t want to kill it. But if he wants both himself and Achaka to survive, he doesn’t have a choice. With his injured ankle, he can’t keep playing this game of cat-and-mouse and hope that somehow he’ll evade the dragon forever.

His arrow flies at the same time Achaka’s does.

~=~

Achaka’s arrow easily buries itself in the dragon’s remaining eye, Graham’s own following suit. He’s not sure which arrow ends up piercing its way to the brain (although his bet would be on Achaka’s), but whichever one it is, the end result is that the dragon falls.

It falls limply, thundering to the ground. The earth shakes beneath its corpse, a few rocks dislodging from the walls and tumbling into the pit. The earthquake seems to last forever, but eventually, it stills, silence gradually filling the cavern once more.

It’s over. Graham takes a moment to absorb this fact, hunched over as he tries to regulate his fast, shallow breathing and the shivers that seem to permeate his being. His heart is practically vibrating in his chest, his every muscle shaking violently. Even as he slowly calms, rapid panting turning to a slower breathing pattern, it still feels like his very soul is quivering furiously.

It’s over, he tells himself, placing a hand on his chest. It’s over. He’s still alive. He’s not dead. He’s still breathing. 

Oh, thank goodness.

Released from the straitjacket of panic, his thoughts begin to wander erratically, bouncing around with nervous energy. Normally his mind is disorganized, but now it feels practically jittery, as if he’s been drinking too much coffee. His mind flits from topic to topic without taking the time to build connections between them; the dragon, the tournament, the eye, Achaka--

_Achaka!_

He’s standing up straight, shouting before he knows it. “Achaka! Are you alright?”

The response is a few seconds in coming, seconds during which Graham’s heart beats madly, but eventually Achaka’s gruff monotone echoes gently in the cavern. “Achaka.”

Graham sags, almost lightheaded with relief. The fear oozes from his being, dissipating into the surrounding air, leaving only a lingering shakiness behind. He realizes he’s grinning, a helpless sort of smile made up of elation and banished fear. Jubilant, joyous, he takes a step forward-- 

And immediately collapses to his knees with a cry of pain, his injured leg feeling as if it were on fire. 

 _Ooooh, ow…_  

As if taking a cue from his ankle, the rest of his body starts protesting as well, aching muscles and various injuries commencing their insistent stabs, each clamoring for his attention. His scraped hands, his various forming bruises, his shoulder--

His shoulder?

 _Oh_ , he realizes, with a glance at the offending limb, _it’s bleeding_. Apparently he didn’t escape unscathed from when the dragon nearly ate him. Not only is his sleeve torn to bloody shreds, but so is some of his skin.

He breathes sharply through his teeth as another pang of pain travels through his throbbing injuries. Zards, but they _hurt,_ and the longer he sits the worse it becomes. As the adrenaline leaks from his blood the pain seems to build into an unbearable cacophony--

“Gramee?”

He looks up at Achaka, who is peering over the edge of the ledge. Graham can’t see his face, but it’s evident from his tone that Achaka is concerned. Graham wants to say something reassuring, but he’s in too much pain to really speak.

Nevertheless, maybe it’s the fact that Graham’s practically collapsed, or maybe it’s the blood on his clothing, but Achaka seems to understand Graham’s predicament without the need of words. Not needing any further prompt, Achaka begins to climb down, scrambling down the rock, and through his fog of pain Graham notices that Achaka’s movements are somewhat more...laborious than before.

_Is he hurt?_

Eventually, Achaka reaches the bottom of the pit, springing neatly off the wall and landing with grace, before rushing towards Graham and crouching beside him. With surprisingly gentle hands he reaches for Graham’s shoulder wound, and Graham allows him to shift his arm, letting Achaka make his inspection with only the occasional hiss of pain to interrupt.

After a few moments Achaka lets go of his arm, shaking his head somberly. Graham interprets that to mean that Achaka can’t do anything to help, not now at least. Shrugging with one shoulder, Graham smiles wanly in a ‘well what can you do’ sort of way. He understands, with the lack of medical supplies there really is very little Achaka can do. 

Achaka, however, isn’t having it. With one armor-clad finger he pokes at Graham’s knee. Graham obligingly shifts, wincing in pain as he maneuvers his injured leg for Achaka’s inspection. Clumsily, he begins to remove his boot, gritting his teeth as he jars his wounded ankle, until eventually he pulls off the boot with a relieved, shaky sigh.

...Wow. It’s worse than he thought. His ankle is already horribly red and swollen, looking twisted and deformed. It throbs angrily with every beat of his heart, and he can feel the heat radiating off the injury.

Achaka makes a small ‘ooooo’ of sympathy as he examines the injury, careful not to hurt Graham further. He says something in an inquiring tone that Graham can’t understand. When Graham looks at him blankly, Achaka makes a small gesture to indicate walking.

“You’re...asking if I can walk?” Frowning, Graham looks at the injury contemplatively. “Stalama.”

Achaka nods, as if he were expecting such an answer, before rising once more to his feet. He stumbles slightly when doing so, and Graham feels concern bubbling in his chest, remembering how Achaka had struggled to climb down the rock wall. “Are you hurt?”

Achaka, predictably, doesn’t answer. He just reaches a hand down to help Graham up, and after a moment Graham accepts it. As Graham rises unsteadily to his feet Achaka wraps an arm around his waist to support him, and slowly the duo begin making their way towards the exit, Graham stumbling erratically and Achaka holding him upright and making sure he doesn’t fall.

He’s still worried. But he’s not getting any answers from Achaka, and for now all he can do is limp his way to freedom with Achaka’s help.

Graham doesn’t look back.

~=~

The outside air feels sweet and rejuvenating after so many hours in the dark, dank cave. Out here, with miles of open space and sunlight on his skin, Graham finally feels a relief from the claustrophobia-inducing small spaces of the cavern. He was never one for enclosed spaces, especially not when he was sharing said space with a dragon.

He has no time to take in the scenery, however. During the short walk out of the cavern, Graham has noticed that Achaka was struggling more, to the point where he seemed to be forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other, and his worry has now grown to downright concern.

The moment they step outside the cave, Graham begins urging Achaka to a nearby tree, nearly toppling as he tugs at Achaka’s arm. With a puzzled noise Achaka yields, allowing Graham to settle him underneath the tree, the two clumsily lowering themselves to the ground.

“Right,” Graham begins, shifting into a position that doesn’t jar his injured leg. He feels mildly lightheaded, doubtless from the sluggishly-bleeding cut on his shoulder, but he doesn’t allow that to distract him, instead focusing on the task at hand. “I need to look at your injuries. Uh--”

Here he pauses, trying to think of a way to communicate his intentions to Achaka. With a frown of concentration he lifts his cape and starts rummaging through it, trying to find something that could help him. Some bobby-pins, the work order for the Crumbler, the makeshift pumpkin-lantern, some bandages--

_Bandages!_

With a small exclamation of triumph he draws forth a mildly-crumpled roll of bandages that he’d brought along, just in case. Probably one of the most useful items in his collection, although he always firmly believed that every item, no matter how pointless-seeming, could serve a purpose. But that’s beside the point.

Achaka reaches for the bandages, plucking them out of Graham’s hand, before tugging at Graham’s injured shoulder. Reading his intentions, Graham turns away, shaking his head. “Stalama.”

His injuries can wait. Achaka’s are his current priority.

_Especially since it was your fault he was injured in the first place._

Pushing away the thoughts, Graham instead takes the bandages from Achaka’s hand, certain that Achaka needs them more than he does. It’s difficult to tell how badly Achaka is injured, what with the armor covering every inch of his skin, but the knight’s labored breathing speaks for itself. Not to mention, the armor itself is dented, likely from when the dragon threw Achaka, and in certain places small gaps are torn in the metal, the mangled iron splattered lightly with grimy blood.

He remembers a few times when, as a child, he would see his father return home from a quest in a similar state, and he knows first-hand how badly a knight could be wounded by such impacts. At best, Achaka is just badly bruised. At worst… 

At least Achaka is still able to breathe; that means that the crumpled armor isn’t constricting his lungs. But he could still be bleeding badly, and Graham would have no way of knowing. 

But that is far too complicated to convey to Achaka, what with the language barrier that divides them. So instead, Graham just points with his free hand at a bloodied dent in Achaka’s armor, while with the other he shakes the bandages for emphasis. 

Achaka seems to get the message, but he responds to it in a less than favorable manner. With a shake of the head he reaches once more for the bandages in Graham’s hand, doubtless in another attempt to treat Graham’s injury. It takes a stern glare and another ‘stalama!’ to get him to knock it off, and even then Achaka seems rebellious. 

Narrowing his eyes, Graham points once more at the bloodied dent, his patience slowly fraying. There’s a moment where he and Achaka stare at each other, each willing the other to back down, before Achaka slumps with a defeated sound and begins removing his armor.

He first removes his helmet, revealing a thick mop of silver hair that he shakes out of his face, before beginning to fumble with the laces of his armor. Graham swiftly lends a hand, undoing the pins connecting the armor plates and untying the pieces from the gambeson underneath, tucking each loose piece into the corners of his cloak as he does so.

Once Achaka’s chest is revealed, Graham hisses in sympathy. Across his stomach, Achaka’s doublet has a slice torn out of it, and staining the rip is blood. Graham can see the wound through the gap in the gambeson, the flesh deformed as it oozes blood at a steady pace.

_He must have gotten cut on his armor._

Hesitantly, Graham unravels the bandages, feeling lost. He’s unsure of what to do, how to fix this. His mind casts back to the injuries his father used to get, trying to remember how the wounds were treated.

_Don’t mess this up._

With shaking hands, Graham draws a small switchblade and cuts away the section of linen covering the injury, carefully peeling it away and cringing as Achaka grunts in pain. He then starts to wrap the bandages around Achaka’s torso, doing his best to keep the pressure even, neither too strong nor too weak. His efforts are clumsy and hesitant, his own injuries and lack of necessary experience hindering his movements, but at least he’s able enough to stem the bleeding. The rest would be the job of the physician.

At last, after what seems like ages, he ties off the bandages with a hasty knot. He releases a shaky sigh as he slowly relaxes, trying not to look at his hands, which are stained red with Achaka’s blood. There’s nausea slowly welling at the back of his throat that he does his best to ignore.

Achaka examines the bloodstained bandages for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face. Eventually, he reaches out a hand and places it gently on Graham’s arm. “Vrana.”

Did that mean ‘thank you’? Graham isn’t sure. At any rate, he simply nods, suddenly feeling too tired to speak. He can feel some of the tension oozing from his body, leaving exhaustion behind, and there’s a few dark spots dancing lightly in front of his vision. A part of his mind realizes dully that he’d forgotten to take care of his own injury, which is still bleeding steadily. 

Achaka seems to recognize this, concern sparking in his violet eyes. Without waiting for any kind of confirmation, he grabs the penknife that Graham had put aside, and hacks off a piece of his ruined gambeson before wrapping the linen hastily around Graham’s injured arm, tying it off with precise movements. The injury burns as he does so, and Graham can’t help but hiss through his teeth, drawing a regretful sound from Achaka.

“Vrana,” Graham says hesitantly, after Achaka is finished. Achaka merely nods and rises slightly unsteadily to his feet, before offering a hand to Graham, helping him to his feet.

Graham sways a little as he stands, but after a few moments the two of them find balance, and with various noises of effort and pain they begin limping slowly down the path that leads to the village. It’s a tedious process fraught with agony, but they persevere, making their way slowly past the various bends and twists in the road.

When at last Graham sees the village between the trees, he finds himself relaxing, leaning against Achaka as relief fills his bones. He’s not sure what they’ll do from here, where they’ll go, whether they can still participate in the tournament, whether he’ll still be friends with Achaka, whether he’ll be able to find a place as a knight in Daventry.

But at least he knows that they’ll be alright, that they’ll live to fight another day.

And as he looks up at his companion, he can see on his face that Achaka thinks the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism welcome.


End file.
